Dealing With Our Demons
by Kade Riggs
Summary: A close brush with death forces Sam to choose a path that doesn't include the rest of his family. Pre series.
1. The Last Day of School

Sam stuffed the last of his notebooks into his backpack, zipping it up with some difficulty and hefting it onto one shoulder.

The senior hallway had long since cleared out after the final bell of their high school lives, and Sam had spent the past half hour meticulously going through the junk in his locker, sorting it into a pile he would keep, and a pile of things to throw away. He could hardly believe how much shit he'd managed to collect after spending only three months in the last high school he would ever attend.

Only one item remained untouched within the steel confines of the locker. A crumpled letter on the upper shelf—folded and wrinkled after so many readings of its contents.

Sam grabbed the Stanford acceptance letter and stuffed it in his jacket pocket, slamming his locker door and walking down the empty hall for the last time.

* * *

Sam didn't expect to find the Impala parked in the small lot in front of the school. He usually had to walk a mile to the bus stop and ride it across town to the apartment he currently shared with his brother, and occasionally their father. 

John hadn't been around as much since Dean had turned eighteen. He would go off on his own hunts sometimes during the week, and collected his boys to participate in others on the weekends. Dean worked full-time so they could legitimately pay rent—and most nights Sam found himself alone in the apartment, watching TV and doing homework, waiting for his brother to drag his ass home from the bars where he'd spend after-hours with his work buddies.

Sam hated the fact that he actually missed his big brother's company when Dean would spend the night with some girl instead of coming home. Every time that happened, Sam went two whole days without any human contact, unless their father happened to be home. He couldn't help but wonder if it was his fault. If his constant questioning, nagging, attention seeking attitude stood as the looming cause of his exclusion from the world inhabited by the other two men in his family.

Being the youngest of the Winchester trio was a lonely, miserable existence—but it seemed pointless to try making friends. Sam had done that many times before, and it always hurt like hell when he had to leave. With school ending their family would probably hit the road again. Sam hadn't even bothered buying a cap and gown for graduation, knowing there was no way Dean would want to stick around long enough for the ceremony--and if Dean wouldn't, their father sure as hell wouldn't.

Ever since Sam had received his acceptance letter, the arguments between him and John had increased ten-fold. John gave an order, and Sam immediately questioned it, vying for his independence. He hadn't told anyone about Stanford—too fearful of the explosion sure to come. Dean had barely gotten his GED, and their father was barely tolerant of allowing his boys to remain only-just stationary enough for Sam to go to school and actually graduate. The three of them moved their base of operations at least four times a year. School breaks meant packing up the truck and Impala and living out of them until school started again. Sometimes Sam got to return to the same school he'd been attending, but usually not.

Dean and John hated staying in one place. They enjoyed the life of demon hunters, and loved nothing more than wandering around the country, killing unnatural things.

Sam just felt tired of it all—the bullshit, the fights, the constant moving around.

Upon approaching the Impala, he found Dean sitting in the driver's seat, his jaw resting on his fist, eyes closed.

Sam opened the passenger side door and got in, scoffing when his brother didn't even twitch.

"What happened?" Sam asked. "You hit Jack, Jim, and Jose too many times last night, so they started hitting you back?"

"Dude, where the fuck have you been?" Dean asked, finally opening his eyes and blinking a couple times. He looked terrible. As bad as Sam had ever seen him. Grey skin, dark circles under his eyes. Dean wore a black sweat suit, and it appeared to hang loose on him. Without his regular egocentric attitude, the twenty-one year old seemed oddly frail.

Sam felt the urge to say something encouraging. Dean always took such good care of him when he was sick, and Sam felt he should return the favor in kind. "You look like shit," he said, imitating his older brother right down to the deadpan tone that clearly stated 'Don't fucking expect me to do anything about it unless you're about to die,' and translated to the brother-speak of 'But if you are about to die, now would be a good time to tell me so I can save your ass.'

"Thanks," Dean replied, turning the key in the ignition and putting the car in reverse to back out of the parking space.

Sam's eyes narrowed when he couldn't tell for sure if his brother was conceding the quip, or T-ing him up to take a hit on a snappy comeback.

"Are we going on a hunt?" Sam blurted after several blocks of driving in silence.

Dean cleared his throat before reaching over to turn on the cassette player. Metallica blasted from the Impala's speakers, and Sam took his brother's response as an 'I don't want to have another fight about this today, because I'm hung over.'

Sam's mouth thinned to a line. "You know, this is exactly what's wrong with this family," he informed Dean. "Anytime you or dad hear something you don't want to, the Metallica turns on, and everyone's just supposed to shut up!"

Dean reached over and turned up the music so loud Sam couldn't even shout over it, completely blowing off his little brother.

Finally accepting that he couldn't possibly make himself heard, Sam slouched down in his seat, wishing for the billionth time the car had headrests. Ever since he'd topped a height of about 5'5" it'd become impossible for him to find a position on the bench seat that wouldn't give him a killer neck cramp if he dozed off. Still, considering he'd basically grown up in the Impala, it didn't take long before the hum of the engine began to lull him toward sleep. Sam closed his eyes, hoping they were headed somewhere semi-local. He hated it when he didn't get a chance to pack his own bag. Considering how terrible Dean looked, there was a good chance there were no clothes waiting for him in the trunk at all. If they had to spend the night somewhere, Sam would probably have to hit Wal-Mart in the early hours before dawn to buy clean clothes.

When the car stopped ten minutes later and the engine's rumble ceased, Sam opened his eyes, looking around.

"Dean, what're we doing in a hospital parking lot?" he asked, gazing out the windshield at the building rising ominously above them. "What're we dealing with? A vengeful spirit?"

"That's not why we're here, Sam," Dean replied, his voice gruff, but weak.

Like, scary weak.

Sam turned to look at his brother, feeling the bottom fall out of his stomach when he realized just how pasty and ill Dean actually looked. When Dean glanced away to avoid meeting his eye, whispering a request that their father not know about this, Sam knew; he knew there was something seriously wrong with his big brother.


	2. Sam and Dean Against the World

AN: Sorry it took so long to update. School really does suck, especially during the summer.

Disclaimer: The usual. Don't own Sam and Dean, wouldn't get out of bed in the morning if I did.

* * *

Except when it came to their father, it had always been Sam and Dean against the world. When they were kids, it was sometimes difficult to separate fighting evil from fighting in general. Even as far back as his eighth or ninth year of life, Sam could remember getting into fights with groups of boys in the towns they would stay in. It always started with some little argument on a playground or at the arcade, and the next thing they knew it turned into a full-on brawl.

The wins came more frequently as they grew older, tougher, smarter. Whether they won or lost, their father never scolded them for acting up, so long as they behaved in his presence. As the years passed, Sam came to believe their dad wanted them to do battle together. He wanted them to relate as soldiers and brothers. It worked as planned during those times they were in fights, and while they hunted. It just didn't work the rest of the time, because they weren't always brothers. Outside the heat of battle, Dean kept himself guarded, didn't share things with Sam like a brother would. Sometimes Sam thought perhaps Dean saw him as a charge, maybe even as a son their father couldn't be trusted to raise alone.

Sam met a girl named Lia Conner in ninth grade. Dean had just turned eighteen that year, and they were living on their own in an apartment for the first time. They'd gotten bored sitting around watching TV on a Saturday afternoon, and decided to check out the downtown area surrounding their new home.

Fall had begun to settle into the Midwest, and the scorching heat of summer had cooled just enough to make wearing sweatshirts comfortable.

The two brothers walked side-by-side in comfortable silence, ambling down the sidewalk so they could check out the store windows while each remained semi-lost in thought. Finally Sam paused in front of a window, turning to look inside. He felt Dean's presence approach on his right side when his older brother walked over to look over his shoulder.

"They have comics," Sam commented, his over-active imagination drooling over the prospect of catching up on all his favorite series.

"And homemade rock candy," Dean replied absently, the dullness in his tone indicating a sense of loss. Neither of them had jobs yet, and now that they were somewhat on their own they'd been instructed to scrape by without attracting attention to themselves via getting caught using fake credit cards or hustling at the bars.

They had a little cash at home, but that was reserved for food, and who knew how long it would be before Dad sent more, or Dean found a job.

Sam sighed morosely, cursing their lifestyle for the tenth time just that afternoon. He straightened up, forcing himself to turn and walk on, as opposed to tempting himself. It took a minute for him to realize Dean's familiar footfalls had yet to catch up with him.

Sam looked back, and his heart broke a little. Dean always commented on Sam's ability to manipulate people with his lost-puppy look. Sam couldn't convince Dean that he was the model for Sam's watery-eyed expression. When it came to looking pathetic when he didn't get his way, Sam didn't have nothin' on Dean Winchester.

Then again, it was entirely possible that Dean subconsciously never allowed himself to look so pathetic when anyone but Sam was watching.

Dean sighed, still staring at the candy displays, and doing an excellent impersonation of a lost, hurt, tired little boy.

Sam walked back over to his brother's side, bumping him with an elbow. "Come on," Sam said. "Let's treat ourselves."

The liquid pools of hopeful despair immediately disappeared from Dean's eyes, replaced by sorrowful determination.

"No," he said softly, jerking his head in the general direction of their apartment. "We've been out long enough, Sam. Dad might call. We should be near the phone in case he wants us to come help him tonight."

Sam grabbed Dean's arm, barely suppressing a smirk when he pulled a wad of cash out of his jeans pocket.

Dean's eyes went wide and he snatched the money away, flicking through it, and upon realizing how much he held, his mouth dropped open a little. "Dude, there's like over two hundred bucks here. What're you doing toting around this much cash?" he whispered harshly, then blinked a couple times at the money in his hand. "Okay, scratch that question. First, I want to know where the fuck you got it."

Sam shrugged. "Some of the guys like to play poker during study hall. Since we do all our money exchanges outside of school, the teachers let us get away with it. I acted like I didn't know how to play for a while, but now I usually win a little each day—just five or ten bucks—so they won't get suspicious. I figure so long as I don't start cleaning them out, I can keep milking them for quite a while."

Dean continued to stare at him blankly, then extended his arms out to his sides. "Why the fuck did you fail to mention this to me? Do you have any idea how sick I am of Raman noodles?"

Sam shrugged. The truth was, he'd hoped to ferret some extra money away—put it in a bank account so it would earn interest.

Sam wanted to go to college someday. Not that he could've told Dean or Dad about that.

Dean peeled off twenty or thirty bucks, then discretely handed the rest of the wad back to Sam, slapping it into his palm and jerking him close enough to speak in his ear. "If I see that still in your jeans pocket when I do laundry tomorrow, or lying on your dresser, or anywhere else in plain sight, you'll never see it again."

Sam nodded, scowling. It figured he'd get a lecture just when he'd started to feel useful, and a little generous.

Dean brushed past him, on his way toward the shop entrance. "Hey, Sammy," he called back to his brooding younger brother.

Sam turned around, purposely allowing his bangs to fall in his eyes so he could glare out from under them.

Dean didn't smirk like he'd expected; his older brother just nodded respectfully, like he did sometimes when recognizing a fellow hunter. "You did good," he said. Then he smirked, holding up the money in his hand. "Now come on. Since you're buying, I'll think about letting you pick what flavor we get—so long as it's not pink."

Sam smiled a little, heading over to the door. Dean ruffled his hair up, pushing him ahead so he'd walk inside first.

* * *

They bought a whole bag of rock candy sticks. Two of every flavor, since Sam hadn't been able to decide what specific kind he wanted to try. For a few minutes the brothers stood at the front of the shop, picking up comic trades off the rack and flipping through them, each absently sucking on a stick of flavored sugar.

"We should get Spiderman," Sam said around his cherry flavored candy, pushing it over into his cheek with his red tinted tongue.

"No way, man," Dean replied, his cheek also fat and words garbled. His lips had taken on a faint tint of grape flavored purple. "We should totally get Punisher."

"Why?" Sam asked, flipping a page.

"Because," Dean said, turning his comic to a vertical position so he could check out a poster of a mostly-naked super-heroine included inside. "He's the Punisher. He punishes evil people, and that's just awesome."

"Dude..." Sam trailed off, flipping another page.

"What?"

"Contrary to what the voices in your head tell you, you're not the Punisher. Even if you were the Punisher--he's a jack-off, and no one likes him. Besides, Spiderman's way cooler. We're definitely getting Spiderman."

"Dude..." Dean replied, flipping a page.

"What?"

"Just because you're geeky doesn't mean you have freaky spider powers. No matter what the voices in your head tell you. Even if you did have some weird kind of spider sense, you'd still be geeky, and no one would like you."

"Ha. Ha. That's hilarious. You think that one up all by yourself?"

"Damn straight, I did." Dean said, chuckling and flipping through a few more pages before glancing up over his comic. He nudged Sam with his elbow. "Hey. Check out the new shift."

Sam glanced up, taking in the scene his brother referred to in an instant before returning his gaze to the adventures of Peter Parker.

The greasy bearded guy who'd sold them their candy had packed up his bag and started heading for the door. His replacement appeared to be approximately twenty, blonde, tan, and very easy on the eyes.

"So much for the theory that the women in comics would fall over if their breasts were _really_ that big," Sam muttered under his breath, before snapping his comic shut, and pulling his rock candy out of his mouth with a 'pop.' He walked over to the girl and laid down the trade and enough money to pay for it.

When he saw the girl's sharp blue eyes flick up to look at him, and then in Dean's general direction while she collected his change from the register, Sam leaned forward on the counter with both forearms. "That's my big brother," he informed her, gesturing toward Dean lazily with his rock candy popsicle. "His name is Dean, and he's an Aquarius. He enjoys sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women, if you know what I mean," he said, smirking and waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

The girl shot him a death glare. "Does he really think I'm that easy? He sends over his little brother to talk for him, and he thinks I'll go all melty at the prospect?"

Sam shrugged. "Most girls go for famous guys. Dean just got his headshot put into a very widely distributed publication."

"Oh, yeah?" the girl asked skeptically. "What would that be?"

"The dictionary," Sam deadpanned keeping a completely straight face. "Try looking up 'male slut' sometime. You'll find him." Sam grinned wickedly, winking as he placed his candy back in his mouth, and taking his comic from her after she placed it in a brown paper bag and reluctantly handed it over to him.

Sam walked out the front door of the shop, taking a seat on the bench outside and breaking out his new book to read—completely absorbed while he waited for Dean. He figured it might be a while. Dean had flirting to do, and in spite of Sam's efforts, he would probably win over the big-breasted honey behind the counter—if given enough time.

Sam hardly noticed a group of kids wandering down the street behind him until he heard raised voices, the start of a fight between two members of the group.

"Give me some, Lia," one of the boys said harshly, making a grab for a small paper sack the girl he spoke to held in one hand. She tried to fend him off, but seeing as he dwarfed her, she couldn't win that fight. The guy pushed her down, grabbing the bag from her and shoving her back down when she tried to get up and grab it back.

"Give it to me, Jake!" she yelled, her pretty face turning scarlet with rage. "I went and got a job. It's not my fault you didn't and Dad cut off your allowance!"

The rest of the boys in the small group watched with dispassionate interest while 'Jake' cut into his younger sister, teasing her cruelly by holding the bag out of her reach, making like he might give it to her before shoving her so she landed on her butt on the sidewalk, making his friends laugh.

Sam sighed, putting down his comic and rolling his eyes. He'd cased the group the second they came into view. Five guys—most of them fifteen or sixteen. In spite of Sam's superior fighting skills, they would probably overwhelm him if he tried to take them all on at once.

Too bad he couldn't just sit there and let them go on tormenting the girl. About the only good thing Dad ever did was impress upon his sons the need to help others. Fight for those who couldn't fight for themselves. Be all you can be. Etc. Etc.

Sam got up, shooting a glance through the window to see where his brother stood. He spotted Dean standing near the cash register, still pretending to read comics, occasionally looking up to speak with the girl working there.

Okay, so no counting on backup from his older brother. Sam sighed, leaving his comic on the bench while he walked over to confront the group of boys.


	3. Broken Bones

"Uh, isn't that your brother?" the buxom blonde asked Dean, pointing out the front window of the store.

Dean didn't even bother looking up from his reading material. He'd slowly made his way closer and closer to the girl he meant to woo, and he'd finally gotten within striking distance to start up a conversation without appearing overly eager.

"I think he's getting the shit beat out of him by a group of older guys," the girl told him, her tone implying that he should at least take a look for himself.

Dean nodded, flipping a page or two, shifting his candy from one cheek to the other. "I wouldn't doubt it," he replied, still reading intently.

The girl made a disgusted noise. "Aren't you going to go help him? Those guys will seriously make him eat dirt until the cops come."

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. Dirt might be good for him. Sammy could use more iron in his diet. That boy sure doesn't eat enough red meat." He quirked one eyebrow at the girl when she made another disgusted noise. "Trust me. He'll be fine. He likes to play dope-on-a-rope for at least the first two rounds—then he'll start hitting them back when they're tired."

The girl kept her silence for a moment or two more, then looked back at him. "So, does playing dope-on-a-rope include curling up in the fetal position on the ground while four guys kick him in the ribs?"

Dean sighed, and finally put down his comic book. "Don't you move an inch," he called while heading for the door. "I'll be right back."

* * *

Sam hadn't been on his fighting A-game. One of the guys kicked out his knee, and the fight went to the ground. Usually wrestling was Sam's specialty. His long arms and legs made it easier for him to grapple. However, once he went down amongst that crowd, there was no getting up.

A foot impacted Sam's spine half-way up his back, and all the air in his lungs exploded out of him in a gasped cry.

He didn't have time to suck in more air before he got kicked again. Sam tried to cover with one arm and hook with the other, but his body wasn't responding to his commands. There were too many of them. The second he got hold of one boy's ankle, another kicked him in the forearm, and Sam heard a distinctive crack both there and in his chest, where another solid blow landed.

The duel breaks caught him off guard, and before he could stifle it, a scream escaped him. It was brief, but loud. If they'd been on a hunt, he would've just given away his position.

Dad would've been furious.

Odd that he would think that while laying on the ground, getting the shit kicked out of him.

Speaking of furious...Dean had finally torn himself away from the girl behind the counter and walked out of the comic book shop.

Usually, Dean would either let him fight his own battles, or would run in to assist, guns blazing.

Sam had only seen the calm, determined look currently gracing his older brother's features on a small number of occasions.

It was Dean's most focused look. His 'pissed enough to commit murder' look.

Sam had sparred with Dean for years. He knew how well versed his brother was in the killing arts, and how much restraint Dean had to employ to avoid putting an opponent down for good.

These guys who had Sam pinned down? There was a good chance they would all die within the next sixty seconds.

Dean grabbed one by the hair and jerked him backward off his feet. He slugged the next kid he could reach in the jaw, and kicked another boy in the balls when he ran over to help. The forth boy ran away—as did the fifth boy who'd hung back from the fight. Dean was too focused on kicking the shit out of the other three to notice their hasty departure.

Where Sam had gotten the shit knocked out of him, Dean made fighting look effortless. If there'd been twice as many teenagers to contend with, Sam had no doubt his brother still would've done well.

No wonder Dean was Dad's favorite.

The girl, Lia, crouched down at Sam's side. "Are you okay?" she asked, sounding worried. Her hands hovered over him, as if she wanted to touch him, but feared causing him pain.

Sam nodded a little, glancing over at Dean through his good eye. There was only one kid left getting the crap pounded out of him, and he was the boy who'd been taunting Lia. The one who'd caused Sam the most pain.

The boy rolled on the ground, screaming while Dean methodically kicked the shit out of him.

"You like four on one? Huh, you like those odds? I like them too," Dean growled, kicking the kid again, and again.

Sam knew if he didn't stop him soon, Dean would kill that boy.

"Help me up," Sam wheezed, reaching for Lia with his unbroken arm. "Help me."

She tried to be gentle, but the broken bones scraped together, and protesting movement. Sam gritted his teeth, forcing himself to rise through the pain.

"Dean!" he called as loud as he could, which wasn't very loud. "Dean, stop," he said, trying to limp toward him.

Suddenly the brutality ceased, and Dean's eyes came back from the cold place they'd disappeared to.

Dean stepped over Lia's brother, approaching Sam.

"Can you walk back to the apartment?" he asked, looking Sam over, trying to determine where he was injured.

Sam nodded, gripping Lia's hand tighter. "Yeah, I can walk, with help."

Dean nodded, glancing at the girl helping his little brother stay on his feet. "Okay. Let's get you home, kiddo."

If Sam hadn't been in so much pain, he would've rolled his eyes at 'kiddo.' That was the nickname he had to endure from Dad and Dean every time he got sick, or hurt. It was the only nickname he hated worse than 'Sammy.'

Lia helped Dean get him home that day. A few days later, Sam saw her in the halls at school. He saw her again at lunch, and decided to sit with her instead of playing poker with the other guys in his class.

Soon, they were dating.

Four months later, when John wanted to move them yet again, Sam dug his heels in and refused. He wanted to stay at his school, with his current girlfriend.

Sam expected Dean to back him up, considering how pleased his older brother seemed with Sam's attempt at having a relationship with a real girl.

Instead, Dean had responded to Sam's protests by slapping him across the back of the head.

"Pack your shit and get your ass in the car when you're told, Sammy."

Yes, it was Sam-and-Dean against the rest of the world.

But against their father, Sam was all alone.


	4. ER

"Why'd you wait to pick me up?" Sam asked, the toe of his sneaker tapping impatiently against the tile floor of the waiting room. "Why didn't you come straight here? You could've called and I would've taken the bus."

"Quiet, Sammy," Dean said softly, pausing for the fiftieth time in filling out the form given to him by the receptionist working the desk. His eyes had become glassy, and he'd only managed to make it halfway down one side of the form in fifteen minutes.

Sam reached over and took the pen and clipboard from his brother's lax grip. The fact that Dean surrendered them so easily frightened him, and Sam scrambled through the rest of the form in record time, taking it up to the desk.

Nothing else was said while they waited. Sam wanted to quiz his brother on his symptoms, but he knew Dean would clam up, because he was a stupid, stubborn son-of-a-bitch whenever he got sick. It pissed Sam off that he just had to sit there and worry. It pissed him off that he was worried at all. Why the hell couldn't Dean just be trustworthy where his own health was concerned?

They sat for two hours before finally getting in to see a doctor. Only the person they saw wasn't a doctor—she was a PA.

The second she entered the exam room they'd been ushered into, Sam knew this trip to the hospital wouldn't end well. She barely introduced herself before she sat down across from them and began rapid-fire questioning.

"How long have these symptoms persisted?"

Dean was always slow to answer questions related to his health. Sam knew this, but the young woman across from them didn't. "Since I woke up this morning," Dean replied. "At first I thought it was a hangover, but..."

"It could very well be just that. You said you had some nausea?"

"Yeah, but it's these stomach cramps that're really killing me."

"Mm hm," the PA replied, jotting down some quick notes. "Are the cramps localized to a specific portion of your abdomen?"

Dean shook his head. "No, it's a widespread pain. It just won't go away."

"Have you thrown up?"

"Couple times this morning."

"Did you eat while out drinking last night?"

"I don't know. It's kind of hazy now..." Dean said, keeping his eyes down, obviously a little humiliated that he might've ended up going to the hospital for an extra nasty hang-over.

"Dean doesn't get this sick from drinking," Sam put in suddenly. "If he's here, there's something wrong with him."

The PA looked at him, her super-professional exterior finally cracking just a little. "Listen, hon, I'm sure your brother is fine. He probably has mild food poisoning."

"Probably?" Sam repeated. "What if he doesn't? What if it's something worse?"

"Dude, shut up," Dean growled softly. "She said I'm fine."

Sam knew he sounded like a little kid stubbornly arguing with everyone, but he couldn't help it. He never forgot for long how horrible things would be if he lost his brother. He couldn't sit in a room with their father for five minutes without starting a fight, and even then, consideration for Dean was the only reason Sam and John checked themselves—walked away before coming to blows.

"No, she doesn't know, Dean. She doesn't know you're fine. She hasn't done any tests, she hasn't probed your abdomen to check for proper intestinal movement, or internal bleeding. She has no idea what's wrong with you."

Dean rolled his eyes, grabbing Sam's arm through his jacket. "I knew it was a bad idea to let you watch cable. Okay, Mr. ER Re-Runs, let's get you home," he said, dragging them both out of the chairs, and gritting his teeth against the pain as he did so.

The PA's beeper went off, and right before she ran out the door to her next emergency, she gave hasty instructions about resting and staying hydrated. Sam glared daggers after her when she scurried out of the room ahead of them.

Dean disappeared while Sam took care of handing over their insurance card and putting the balance on one of the legit credit cards. After finishing, he looked around for his brother, and couldn't find him. On his way out of the hospital, he spotted Dean exiting the men's room, looking like a bus had just run him over.

Sam caught up to his brother's side and cast a worried look at him. "Dude, did you puke again?" he asked.

Dean nodded, breathing in deep through his nose and then slowly sighing. The two of them walked at a snail's crawl, slowly making their way toward the exit.

Sam felt his brow furrow in frustration, and he gritted his teeth, whipping out his phone. "That's it, I'm calling dad," he said, dialing the number.

"Don't bother. I'm fine," Dean insisted. He reached over and grabbed Sam's phone away from him when the dialing didn't cease, stuffing it into his own pocket. "Do I seriously need to put you in timeout?" he asked. "Because if you don't knock this shit off, I will physically make you sit your ass down in a corner and think about how annoying you've been today."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Go look in a mirror, Dean. You'd probably croak if you tried to do anything 'physically.'"


End file.
